


On Horseback

by QueerCrusader



Series: Geraskier fics [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (sorry), Demiromantic Geralt, First Time, Jaskier is a little shit, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scenting, Some Fluff, Some humour, a whole lotta physical contact, injured jaskier, just two idiots being idiots ya know, mentions of vomit, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCrusader/pseuds/QueerCrusader
Summary: There was a reason why Geralt of Rivia did not allow Jaskier to ride Roach with him.Jaskier gets injured, and to save some time, Geralt begrudgingly allows the bard to join him on Roach's back. Feelings(?) ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663609
Comments: 6
Kudos: 222





	On Horseback

**Author's Note:**

> I don't update very regularly, but I also don't intend to make this ficlet more than 3-4 chapters long. Rating is currently mature, but I may bump that up to explicit depending on where this fic ends up going. Anyway, my first Witcher ficlet, so hope you guys enjoy <3 Feel free to come chat with me over on [tumblr](https://queer-crusader.tumblr.com/) btw!

There was a reason why Geralt of Rivia did not allow Jaskier to ride Roach with him.

Actually, scratch that, there were several. The weight, for starters. Roach just about managed his bulk of muscle, his pack, and his two giant swords. Another entire person? That would be horse-icide. Or whatever. Jaskier knew the fancy words, Geralt was just the one fluent in non-committal noises.

And then there was the babbling. The constant fucking babbling. If Geralt made Jaskier walk, maybe he’d tire the bard out enough to want to shut up for once in his life. He considered it a viable strategy. Except very little seemed to actually silence Jaskier, to Geralt’s eternal frustration.

Okay, perhaps he was a bit harsh about Jaskier’s chatter. It was… annoying, but it filled the silence. It had become easy enough to tune out. And though Geralt loathed to admit it, he begrudgingly had to agree that Jaskier could in fact be… entertaining. Even funny at times.

But that would _not_ earn him a spot on Roach’s back. She didn’t even like Jaskier that much anyway. Or so Geralt had believed, until Jaskier had collapsed behind them, and before the sound of him hitting the ground had even reached Geralt’s ears, Roach had already stopped dead in her tracks, her ears twitching. _Fuck._

“Jaskier? Damnit, Jaskier, talk to me,” he called out as he jumped off Roach’s back, rushing over to check the bard’s unconscious body.

“Mmm, is this what a girl has to do to get your attention,” Jaskier mumbled, stirring but not quite opening his eyes yet. There was a cut on the side of his head where he’d hit a rock in his fall, but other than that he seemed fine. Though Geralt would be surprised if the wound didn’t result in a concussion.

“What happened?” Geralt pressed, trying to gently help Jaskier up without jostling him too much. His eyelids were fluttering now as he carefully opened them.

“Ow,” Jaskier muttered. Very informative. “I think I fainted?”

“Any reason?”

“How about, _‘we’ve walked for eight hours straight Geralt, my feet are gonna fall off Geralt, I didn’t sleep last night because you were so busy noisily gutting that cockatrice, Geralt’_?”

His tone nearly made Geralt zone out again, but the words did trigger a flash of recognition. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Well,” Jaskier replied, gingerly touching his head wound and wincing as his fingers came back red, “that’ll teach you, I guess. Now can we _please_ make camp before I actually die?”

Geralt didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t even need to be asked once; the cut on Jaskier’s head might be superficial, but it was bleeding quite a bit, and from the way he was squinting at the sunlight, he almost definitely had a concussion.

Geralt let the bard sit against a rock as he went to work on setting up camp. From the corner of his eye he could see Roach walk over to Jaskier, gently nudging him with her snout. He groaned inwardly. He knew where this was going. The two were gonna be best buddies before long, and then it would be Geralt walking beside them. Perhaps he should. His stamina was certainly better than Jaskier’s. Not to mention that Jaskier was far lighter than him, and Roach would probably not mind at all trading one man for another for a day… A pang of betrayal shot through him.

_~oO0OoO0OoO0Oo~_

“Don’t know what you see in him,” he told Roach when the camp was set up and he had the time to brush her down. Roach’s ear twitched in that tell-tale way, and when she turned her head to nudge him not-quite-as-gently as she’d nudged Jaskier, he knew she thought he was full of shit.

Great. Just great. “I feel cheated on, just so you know,” he told her. She snorted.

By the next morning, Jaskier was not in the best condition. He’d thrown up twice and had been drifting in and out of consciousness all night, only to fall into a fitful sleep near sunrise.

Geralt was getting restless. This was a problem. They needed to get to the next town soon; a child was vanishing each day, and the town was running out of children fast. They couldn’t afford to rest in the woods for a few days. He’d thought of giving Jaskier one of his tinctures, but being human, the bard hadn’t reacted very well to it and had just thrown up again. He _had_ fallen asleep not long after though, so perhaps it was doing something after all.

“He gets six hours,” he told Roach, “and then we’re taking him to the closest sign of human life and leaving him there to recover.” Guilt stabbed him in the gut for that, but really, what else was there to be done? He couldn’t drag Jaskier to some monster-infested town, not in this state.

 _Of all the things to fell him_ , Geralt thought, feeling a little sick himself. It hadn’t been a monster to get to him, slipping past Geralt’s defences in a stroke of luck. No; it had been exhaustion, brought on by Geralt ignoring him, wearing him out. It was like the djinn all over again. All he’d asked for was a bit of peace. He really should have learned by now.

_~oO0OoO0OoO0Oo~_

“Hmm,” Jaskier groaned softly as Geralt jostled him awake later that day. He’d given Jaskier an extra hour-and-a-half, and it looked like he’d needed it, but the bard still seemed pretty weak. “Just climb out the window if you’re in such a rush.”

Geralt frowned, then felt his jaw nearly drop. “You think I’m one of your _conquests_?”

Though Jaskier’s eyes were still closed, he physically recoiled. “Geralt? What are you doing here?”

Geralt had to bite his lip. Jaskier was concussed – he was ailing, delusional.

“We’re not in an inn,” he managed. “You hit your head, remember?”

Jaskier frowned. “Oh. Yeah. I think so.”

“You think so or you know?”

That took him a moment. Geralt felt his nerves getting more frayed with each second; memory loss was never a good sign.

“We were on the road. I was tired. You weren’t listening.”

_Ah._

“You’re fine.” Geralt grunted as he got up out of his crouch. “Come on. We need to get to Tamersk.”

“Ah, fuck, yeah we do,” Jaskier remembered. He hastily stood up, and Geralt saw the blood draining from his face. He quickly rushed forward to catch what he assumed was going to be a fainting Jaskier, only to get covered in a spray of vomit instead.

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“I’m so sorry…” Jaskier managed weakly, but Geralt just glared.

“It’s – _fine_. Just stay there, okay? _Don’t move._ ”

He thrust his water flask into Jaskier’s hands so the bard could rinse out his mouth, then went over to his pack, which he’d already saddled onto Roach’s back. When she smelled him, she quickly tried to take a sidestep, but Geralt gripped the bag on her back tightly.

“Don’t fuck me over,” he warned her. “I’m not in the mood.”

He quickly took off his current shirt and rolled it into one of his blankets with a grimace, then pushed it to the bottom of the saddlebag. He switched it out for a fresh shirt, one that was thinner, but at least it wasn’t covered in sick.

“Right,” he called out, “get on.”

When nothing happened, he turned around only to see Jaskier stare at him.

“Come again?”

“On Roach,” Geralt pressed. “She won’t bite.” He gave a little side-glare at the horse, which blinked innocently. Adulteress. “Come on, you can’t walk in this state.”

Jaskier blinked, but didn’t need to be told twice. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. He was a little more careful with his movements this time around, and when he got to Roach, Geralt had to help him up, but when he was finally sat and ready, he gave a triumphant little grin.

“No wonder you won’t let me up here. Who knew you were so comfortable?” He leaned forward to pet Roach’s neck, but nearly slipped off in the process, so Geralt had to rush in and steady him yet again.

“Damnit, Jaskier, just behave, will you?”

“Fine.” The bard straightened himself before frowning. “What about you?”

“I’ll walk.”

_~oO0OoO0OoO0Oo~_

This was excruciating. They were going at a snail’s pace, Roach careful not to jostle Jaskier lest he slide off her back, and they really, _really_ didn’t have time for this. Plus, if Geralt was honest, he was freezing. The shirt he’d picked out was too thin and they were walking too slowly for him to work up a sweat.

“You’re being stubborn,” Jaskier told him after Geralt repressed another groan as Roach halted _yet again_ so Jaskier could right himself. “And miserable.”

“Thanks,” Geralt snapped.

“Just get up here, I can hold onto you and we can move more quickly.”

“You’re _not_ holding onto me.”

“Fine, I’ll sit in front and can lean back. I don’t care how we do this, I don’t mind being little spoon. Now get up here.”

Geralt had to mull it over for a minute, and really, he was being ridiculous. Jaskier was right, it was more practical if they both rode Roach. She could rest when they got to Tamersk.

“On one condition,” he finally spoke before holding out another vial of his tincture. Jaskier’s expression was understandably sceptical.

“The stuff that made me vomit last night?”

“…I watered it down this time.”

Jaskier still didn’t seem sure, but he took the bottle anyway, reaching out carefully so he wouldn’t lose his balance. Geralt took a step back, just to be sure.

But watering down seemed to work. Jaskier managed to get the stuff down with only a wince and a burp this time, and after that, his face seemed to relax, his squint at the sunlight lessening a little.

“I’m gonna climb up now,” Geralt announced unnecessarily. He pulled himself up swiftly, planting himself behind Jaskier and reaching around him to take the reins.

“Is this okay?” he asked, hesitation tingeing his voice.

“Yeah,” Jaskier sighed, leaning back a little. The heat of his body radiated through Geralt’s thin shirt, and he failed to suppress a shiver. “Comfy.”

They managed to ride at a much better pace now, Roach showing no signs of complaint. But as they went, Geralt’s discomfort grew.

There was another reason why he’d refused to let Jaskier ride Roach with him. One he would never, not in a thousand years, admit out loud to anyone. He barely even admitted it to himself.

The reason was Jaskier. Just… _Jaskier._ Being in Geralt’s space. Feeling like Jaskier. _Smelling_ like Jaskier. The bard had a smell to him, one that clung to his skin even after weeks in the wilderness. A scent of mint, pine, fresh wood. Lavender, if he was feeling fancy, though that smell often faded quicker. And underneath it all, the smell of his skin. A human smell, but far less pungent than how some people managed to reek. He smelled soft, warm, clean.

And Geralt was trying his fucking hardest not to lean those two inches down and bury his nose in the nape of Jaskier’s neck.

Gods, it was _infuriating_. Worse than the incessant babbling, the cheesy songs, the outrageous flirting with anything that moved (and when had _that_ started to get on Geralt’s nerves?). The comfort Jaskier radiated, relaxed and pliant and _trusting_ against his solid form, drifting in and out of sleep as they rode. It was almost intimate, except those two fucking inches couldn’t feel further away. Jaskier might as well be on the moon. So close, tangible, but not close enough, never close enough, and there was a reason Geralt didn’t let the bard close to him most times, certainly not for long, _fuck…_

He thought back to the time at the inn where he told Jaskier he didn’t need anyone. Jaskier had rubbed oil into his… _back_ muscles not hours before, but when the bard had crouched down, only the length of the tub between them, had _looked_ at him… It hadn’t been until then that he’d felt exposed, vulnerable, naked. The space between them could’ve spanned miles for all Geralt knew. His fingers had twitched with the need to cover himself, or pull Jaskier close, one or the other, both, cover himself with Jaskier, pull the man into the tub and onto his lap…

But the conversation had ended. And ever since then, whenever he’d gotten close enough to Jaskier, it had felt like gravity, some force pulling them inadvertently to each other. He was being sucked into the maelstrom, and it had become harder and harder to swim against the current, escape the force that Jaskier was, the pull of him.

And now he was almost at the centre. Jaskier against him, oblivious, soft, trusting, pliant, smelling so fucking irresistible…

Geralt realised to his growing horror that he was half-hard.

His mind flashed back to the bathtub, and he had to bite back a frustrated groan. Now was _not_ the time. Jaskier was injured, for fuck’s sake.

To make matters worse, Jaskier shifted in his sleep, pressing against Geralt’s… _oh fuck._ Oh, this was going to be a problem.

They rode for a while longer, but with every bump, every roll in Jaskier’s sleep, Geralt felt the pressure and rubbing against his cock again. No matter what he thought of – wrinkly Kikimora, enraged innkeepers yelling in his face, something, _anything_ , his situation was not getting better.

After an hour of agony, he had to admit defeat. He briskly brought Roach to a halt, jolting Jaskier awake as he quickly slid off her back. “Gotta take a leak,” he grunted, rushing to find a secluded spot in the undergrowth where he couldn’t be seen. He quickly untied his breeches, finally freeing his now fully hard cock to the crisp spring air with a hiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he spit on his hand and wrapped his hands around himself, “fucking bard, damnit Jaskier…” His eyes fluttered closed as he quickly started tugging. He couldn’t afford to take his time, not today, and frankly, he didn’t want to. An hour of Jaskier’s ass pressed against him was foreplay enough, fuck you very much.

It was too dry, too aggressive, too harsh and rushed to really be good. But then an image flashed behind his eyes – he was in the bath again, Jaskier crouched across from him, his face severe, but Geralt had his fist wrapped around his cock, and when he looked up, Jaskier was staring him right in the eyes. Not a hint of a smile, no coyness. His gaze pierced through Geralt with the intensity of the sun.

The Witcher came so hard his vision whited out, and he had to bite his fist to keep from crying out.


End file.
